


143

by pretense



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-01
Updated: 2010-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretense/pseuds/pretense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this technological day and age, it's actually rather rare to receive a real, heartfelt anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	143

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. Each and every nation-tan is property of Himaruya Hidekaz. Oh, and Facebook, too. Not mine.
> 
> A/N: I sincerely hope that the nations will forgive me for butchering their respective languages. Babelfish abuse. :3
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6101304/1/143).

46 Notifications.

Amethystine eyes mellow as they customarily settle on the bright red square at the top row of the web page. He moved his mouse pointer towards the square and clicked, revealing a drop down box which unsurprisingly listed name after name of every nation he'd come into contact with reportedly having posted something on his profile's wall.

'Well isn't that nice,' Canada thought to himself as he opted to click on the 'Profile' tab which loaded up his page, revealing various greetings from his fellow nations. He laid down on his stomach and grabbed a pillow from the bed to put under his chest, using one hand to navigate the laptop set up in front of him. It amused him that the others kept on greeting him in their native tongues despite knowing that he doesn't really understand much of foreign languages, save for French and English.

_¡_ _Feliz cumpleaños, amigo! :D :D :D_

Canada typed in a quick 'Thanks' to the Country of Passion, smiling as he found that a certain Southern Italian had commented on the greeting before him; never mind that the aforementioned Italian appeared to be cursing the Spanish nation for 'staying up late just to post a stupid greeting'. Romano gave his 'Happy Birthday' too, in that same comment, though it did end with a flat period. He thanked Romano for his greeting, nonetheless.

Up next was a combined greeting from Sweden and Finland under Sealand's account - giving him a rather amusing greeting in three languages.

_Födelsedagen! - Sverige_

_Onnellista syntymäpäivää, Kanada~! – Suomi_

_Hey Canada! How come you didn't invite me to your party last year? Will there be one again this time? Don't forget to invite me now, okay? And oh yeah, Happy Birthday! :P – THE GREAT SEALAND_

'Oh lord, last year…' Canada thought wryly as he thanked the 'family'. He didn't regret not inviting Sealand to his birthday bash last year. That was the last time he asked America a favor in handling his birthday celebration. Good god, he spent WEEKS cleaning up the mess… The psychological trauma was another case.

Scrolling down further, he found greetings from the other Nordics. Denmark's in particular, was rather striking, promising to send over a crate of Carlsberg beer for him. Then there was this long greeting from China, for which he had to open up an online translator just to get a gist of it – apparently it was a birthday wish for him to keep a stable economy, good GDPs, and - was that a business proposal at the end?

Following that was a… well, it was a very enthusiastic greeting, to say the least, from Korea who – aside from claiming that birthdays originated in himself – was questioning why he hadn't hosted a party this year. After translating the text online, Canada meekly replied that he'd rather spend the day with his own people this time since last year it was spent with the nations – got to keep balance after all.

Japan kept his greeting short and formal, in contrast to the other two East Asian nations, mentioning that he (Canada) should be expecting a package in the next few days. Canada only hoped that Japan would not get  _his_  gift mixed up with  _America's_  just like what happened a few years back. And no, he did not keep that rather… ehem,  _informative_  DVD; he shipped it right over the border after reading the description on the DVD case's back. Seriously, America and his… 'Ugh…' Canada hastily shook his head to clear away the thoughts; 'Moving on…'

Greece's message was uncannily cut half-way through the second word… with random characters on the keyboard taking up the space. Turkey, not surprisingly, pointed this out in his rather  _colorful_ comment, calling his fellow Mediterranean nation words that Canada didn't even find the need to translate online. He'd rather not get in the middle of that, especially after reading Greece's equally annoyed response to the Turk.

Ukraine's greeting was simple and sweet, wishing him the best for the years to come. And it really would've been better if Russia's hadn't gone right after it… with a sort of greeting-slash-threat from Belarus under it, too. The big, capitalized 'DA?' in the end didn't help; especially since it was attached at the end of the Russian's invitation for Canada to spend the day at his Moscow home. Belarus wasn't too happy with this, hence the 'greeting-threat'.

After them was a message from Cuba who was inviting him over so that they could eat ice cream and hang out. Again, Canada politely declined, using the same words that he'd replied to Korea. Maybe they can hang out some other time, he added out of courtesy, silently hoping that Cuba wouldn't get him confused for America (AGAIN!) when he flies over.

Liechtenstein and Switzerland's greeting was sent together under the little lady's account. And yes, Switzerland did tell him off regarding last year's incident with the spiked drinks. Canada pouted at the screen; really, was Switzerland STILL not over that? He wasn't even the one who spiked the punch with alcohol in the first place!

And speaking of the guy… Prussia's greeting was sent in, all-capitalized.

" _ALLES GUTE ZUM GEBURTSTAG!"_

With a:

_*piyo piyo*_

Canada had to rub his glasses at the edge of his shirt-sleeves before looking at the screen again. It still read: '*piyo piyo*'.

'Weird…'

But then again, seeing the once-nation's profile picture of himself with a bright yellow chick on his head easily answered the North American nation's unvoiced question.

'Oh.' was the only thing that echoed in Canada's mind as he thanked the Prussian for his greeting.

Prussia's entry was preceded by Hungary, who – like everyone else, apparently – greeted him in her native tongue.

" _Boldog születésnapot!"_

Following her greeting was another one in German, this time sent by Austria.

Then there was Italy's " _Felice Compleanno!_ _（＝∀＝_ _）_ " Canada had to admit that Veneziano's facemark amused him.

Unsurprisingly, the earliest comments came from England and Germany. Germany had mentioned getting everyone into teleconferences for next year's G20 summit as to avoid the riot that happened last weekend and wished the Canadian a stress-free birthday.

England, on the other hand, was full of apologies; saying he's sorry that he couldn't stay in Canada for a couple of more days and wishing his 'child' a best day. Canada only rolled his eyes as he typed in a reply. Of course England wouldn't stay… not when dear America's birthday was only three days away. As he jabbed the 'Enter' key, amethyst eyes easily glided across the room towards his dresser where there was a vase full of pale pink rosebuds yet to bloom. Of course they were from England, sent right at his doorstep first thing this morning. He let out a sigh and silently berated himself.

'That's not the way to act to someone who raised you!' the strawberry-blonde nation thought agitatedly. With a quick drag of his fingers across the touchpad, Canada clicked 'Delete' on his comment to England's post and typed up a new one. It really couldn't be helped that England would be more 'attached' than usual to America these days, after the two nation's little Special Relationship squabble a few months ago… Yeah, he really should be more considerate.

' _Thanks England. Glad you remembered! I understand that you can't stay. :-) I'll just see you at America's birthday on the week-end! And the bouquet, too! Thank you for that, it quickly brightened up my day.'_

Contented, Canada clicked on the 'Comment' button and was surprised when a pale blue box popped up at the bottom left corner of his screen saying: 'America has posted something on your wall.'

Raising a brow, Canada clicked on the link and found himself back to the top of his page, this time with America's post above Spain's. It read:

" _Oh hey Canada! Facebook told me it was your birthday! Happy birthday, bro! :D I'll see ya at the White House on Saturday for my awesome party, 'kay? xD"_

…

'Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale… It's not America's fault that he sounds so stupid… No need to heighten your blood pressure over this, Canada… Breathe, breathe…' Canada told himself as he deliberately raised his hands away from mashing the keyboard of his laptop. But seriously,  _ **Facebook**_   _ **told**_   _ **him**_? You'd think that the world power didn't even bother remembering when his own brother's birthday was… Then again, Canada thought with a hopeless air as he viewed the message again, maybe that really was the case… Willing away the shame of actually being blood-related to the American nation, Canada typed up his usual, polite reply, adding in that yes, he will be attending the July 4th celebration.

Checking the time, Canada was reminded that it was still early; only a few minutes past nine in the morning… more greetings were bound to come in soon as the day rolled in. Sitting up, Canada stretched and stood up, heading over to his bedroom's veranda where a table laden with breakfast awaited him. There was his usual stack of pancakes (shaped like maple leaves for this special day), maple syrup (made in Canada, naturally), a jug of apple juice and various condiments. His pet polar bear was already munching on some pancakes on one side of the table when he arrived.

"What a great day, eh, Kumajirou?" Canada says, wearing a wide smile as he took his seat, breathing in the dew-laced morning air.

"Hmmm," was all that he understood from his familiar as the bear busily consumed his breakfast.

And Canada was thankful for that, at least Kumajirou hadn't asked him 'Who?' so early on such a special day.

After having eaten as much as his stomach would allow, Canada hopped back into his bed and saw that 7 more notifications had come. Australia, New Zealand, Chad, Seychelles, Netherlands, Belgium and Monaco had sent him their greetings and he happily thanked them all personally. And as he clicked the 'Comment' button in reply to Monaco (who he was thrilled to find to have greeted him in French), Canada's smile faltered slightly as his thoughts drifted to another Francophone nation… Of all people,  _France_  – the origin of his beloved mother tongue, the first person to take him into a warm home from the wilderness, the only one whom he treasures above all – hadn't even greeted him in the least.

He really was expecting at least a little something given that…  _Well_ …

Canada whipped off his glasses and proceeded to bury his face into his pillow. 'Don't be such a pessimist, Canada! He'll send you a greeting… France is just… well, he might be busy in his own country… It's only about four in the afternoon in Paris right now…' He raised himself from the pillow, mumbling the next words to the laptop's screen where his reflection's anxious face stared right back at him. "Or maybe France is going by my time… It's still morning… Maybe by-"

The laptop emitted a merry little ' _Ping_ ' sound, indicating that a new message had arrived. Amethyst eyes jumped to the bottom left corner and the nation tried his best to ignore the deflated feeling that was bubbling inside him when he found that the message wasn't from the one he had been expecting. Nonetheless, Canada thanked Egypt for his greeting with the same politeness he'd exhibited with the other nations.

**~ 143 ~**

Three abrupt knocks came from the polished oak door, startling the Canadian whose grip on a hairbrush slipped – causing the object to clatter onto the smooth wooden flooring. Canada's gaze shifted from the dresser's mirror towards the door where a wizened yet formal-sounding voice was drifting through.

"Master Williams, you are called for at the Lavner Suite."

"Ah, yes, thank you. I'll be there shortly," Canada replied, ducking under the dresser to retrieve his fallen hairbrush.

"Furthermore, I have been instructed to take you there personally, Sire. So I do hope you wouldn't mind me keeping wait outside your quarters."

"Eh? Is that so? I'll be right out, then…" Canada responded, running the brush through his strawberry-blonde hair one last time before stashing it into his suitcase. He knew he should've already left his house by six that night, but  _noooo_  he just  _had_  to double-triple-check his profile page to see if France had sent him a greeting or not. And when it turned out to be the latter, he just  _had_ to mope around for five full minutes until Kumajirou had the sense to remind him of his Dinner with the Prime Minister and members of the Cabinet. That was enough to snap the man out of his brooding and he quickly set his laptop into hibernation, grabbed his prepared suitcase, ran out of the house and took the first passing cab to Parliament Hill.

He barely had 45 minutes to prepare before dinner; he showered and dressed in top speed, preparing himself both physically and mentally for the occasion. It was his god damned birthday, he was going to celebrate it whether or not France remembered… and no, that last part did not just sting a big gaping hole in his heart.

Zipping up his suitcase, Canada faced his reflection only to find that the mien he wore was more befitting of a funeral than a birthday celebration. Nibbling on his lower lip, Canada dragged his eyes towards his clothes, focusing his attention on the non-existent creases and folds of his snow-white blazer. He straightened the collar of his deep purple dress shirt and straightened up his white silk tie. He wiped his sweating hands onto a lilac handkerchief that bore his initials before stuffing the cloth into the right-hand pocket of his matching white dress pants. Finally, Canada stepped back and returned his amethystine eyes to his face.

"It's your birthday dinner with your government, Canada!" the strawberry-blonde nation stated resolutely, squaring his shoulders and righting the position of his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Don't ruin this special night for anyone, understand? Good. Now put on a smile and get out there!"

With a determined nod at his reflection, Canada walked over to the door and stepped out.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Gagnon," was Canada's genial greeting upon finding the butler waiting for him as promised.

"It's no trouble at all, Master Williams," replied the butler, a lean man in his early sixties with gray-streaked brown hair and a moustache to fit his kindly face. "Shall we proceed?"

"Yeah, sure," Canada nodded, moving in unison with the butler who led him through the brightly lit corridor, turning right at the forked end, moving towards a flight of stairs leading to the second storey.

Confused, Canada slowed in his steps whilst the aged man kept moving, stopping only when he had taken the first step up the stairs and found that his nation was not beside him at all.

"Master Williams?" Mr. Gagnon inclined his head in question, deep blue eyes finding the other still standing at the cross-road.

"Isn't the dinner supposed to be at the Confederation Room? You know… the one over there?" Canada asked, using his pointing finger to indicate the left-hand path behind him.

"Oh yes, that is indeed true, Sire," Mr. Gagnon answered with a smile and a nod. "But I did mention that you were called for at the Lavner Suite, did I not?"

"But… the Dinner…" Canada mumbled, casting an anxious glance at the hallway behind him where muffled sounds of people talking and moving about drifted by. He trusted Mr. Gagnon, but everybody makes mistakes every once in a while, right? And now wasn't quite the time for petty mistakes…

"If you need assurance, Master Williams, my actions are under the Prime Minister's orders," Mr. Gagnon chuckled at seeing how quick the amethyst-eyed nation snapped his attention back to him at his statement. He lifted his gloved right hand and motioned towards the rest off the stairs.

"Are you sure of this?" Canada asked, talking a few tentative steps forward at the same time dreading that he'd be late for his own dinner party.

"A hundred percent, Sire." Gagnon replied, calming deep blue eyes meeting with his nation's gaze. "Now shall we proceed?"

"Okay…" the North American nation finally conceded and took his place beside the wizened butler; Mr. Gagnon was a very kind man, Canada trusted the man not to lead him astray – not tonight of all nights, in the very least.

Two pairs of feet swiftly treaded the lamp-lit stairway, reaching the second floor in a matter of seconds with both men finding themselves in a dimly lit corridor. The floor was so quiet that Canada couldn't quite help having bubbles of apprehension brew up inside his chest. Maybe this was the wrong place after all, maybe if they made a run for the Confederation Room now he wouldn't be so late. But just as Canada opened his mouth to express his thoughts, Mr. Gagnon stated in a gravelly but serene-sounding voice…

"The Lavner Suite, Master Williams, farthest room to the right." The dark-haired butler motioned his right hand straight forward.

"Eh? But… there's no one here…" Canada said as calmly as he could, eyes scanning the moonlit corridor with great unease. "I'm sorry but I really think that you've led me to the wrong place, Mr. Gagnon… Everyone's over–"

"Oh but he has been waiting for you for quite a while now, dear Sire…" Mr. Gagnon interjected in a considerably more believable voice of calm.

"…  _He_?" Canada squeaked, tingling sensations creeping their way up his spine as he absorbed the butler's words. The strawberry-blonde head took a quick glance of the solemn-looking hallway before turning his attention to the only other living creature in sight.

"Someone's… been waiting… for  _me_ " – he raised a finger to point at his chest – " _there_?" he tilted his finger to point towards the moonlit hallway.

"Yes, Sire."

"And this is the farthest spot that you can take me…"

"Affirmative."

Canada spared the eerie corridor another uneasy glace. "Are you really-?"

"He has been waiting there for at least an hour now, Master Williams," Mr. Gagnon informed him, wearing a kind smile.

"One… hour?" Amethystine eyes lost their anxious gleam and Canada felt his trepidation ebb away as he processed the words. Jaw slowly dropping open, Canada's whole body turned towards the corridor, gaze settling on the directed Lavner Suite; sure enough, he found a faint orange tinge seeping out from the bottom of the door frame – a sure signal that the room was occupied. "Oh dear… I – I'll be heading over there, then… Why couldn't you have said this part sooner, Mr. Gagnon?"

The blue-eyed butler merely chuckled to himself as he turned away and descended the stairs… Really… almost a hundred and fifty years and his nation is still so young in many, many ways…

**~ 143 ~**

Forcibly calming his breaths as he came to stop in front of the Suite's door, Canada wiped his hands at the sides of his pants before righting his stance and briskly knocking on the ornately-carved white door.

"Th-This is Matthew Williams, I… um, I am very sorry to have kept you waiting."

Finding that greeting to be somewhat sufficient, Canada grabbed the golden doorknob and twisted it open, letting himself in; but he had barely taken one step when the North American nation found himself frozen on the spot.

The room was filled with rows of candelabra, each holding three tall candles lit up – collectively setting a warm, almost ethereal glow upon the otherwise unlit, closed in room. He picked up the sound of an orchestra playing a slow waltz tune, the source of the sound revealed itself to be an old gramophone sitting rather regally in one corner of the room. Then there were red and white rose petals, all laid down on the carpet, creating a makeshift pathway towards the center of attraction: a table set for two.

"Yes it is quite old-fashioned, isn't it?" a smooth, mellow voice drawled as a lean figure emerged from the slightly parted draperies at a far end of the room.

Golden hair cascading elegantly down the smooth, impeccable face; bright blue eyes with tints of indigo trained on the smaller man; donned in a ruffled dress shirt, a royal blue overcoat and black pants and shoes; France wore an expression of amused guilt as he stepped forward to meet the younger nation who was still rooted to the door.

He raised his right hand, sending a most heart-felt smile towards the Canadian who by now was staring at him with an expression that seemed to be torn between smiling and giving in to tears. "Won't you close the door and come in, my love?"

"I… France… You… Here…" Canada could barely start a coherent sentence as he found himself overwhelmed with emotion. Just taking in the sight… the roses… the music… the dinner…  _ **France**_ …

"Yes, I am here, my sweet Canada," France answered the unvoiced question, smiling still wider as he realized that his beloved wasn't about to move any time soon and thus proceeded to push the door close himself. With that done, the European nation gently cupped the celebrant's face, finding that tears have made their way onto the bright amethyst eyes that he ever loved to see.

"Why the tears, Canada?" he asked, dutifully wiping away the first drop that fell. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"I… I… France, you… I'm sorry… so, _so_  sorry…" Canada finally managed to say as he met the taller man's lively blue eyes. "All day… I was waiting… waiting for you to call me or send me a mail or a greeting card… and… and I got so mad when I didn't… a-and now… now you're here… with all this… and – and…"

"Shhh," the Frenchman whispered as he pulled the younger nation near, threading one hand through the strawberry-blonde locks as he placed a kiss on the Canadian's forehead. "Well, this was supposed to be a surprise, you know…"

Canada had fished out his handkerchief and was hastily dabbing the cloth against his eyes, wiping away the silly little tears. "I'm sorry… I guess I was just… being emotional… Good lord, France why do you have to bring this out in me…" he mumbled, ending in a dry laugh. Taking off his glasses, Canada hung the eyewear on the breast pocket of his blazer before resuming drying off his tears.

"It's nothing to be sorry about, my most beloved Canada," France admonished gently, leveling his face with the younger nation's. "I'm actually rather elated to find that you've missed me so much…"

This brought on a bright red dusting of color on the Canadian's cheeks accompanied by a small but genuine smile on the younger man's lips. He wasn't even going to deny it.

"Also, do you really expect me to just keep myself locked up in Paris when you're celebrating such a joyous occasion over here? I think not, my dear…" France added, straightening up with a smaller hand now entwined with his own.

"Well, it's just my birthday; you honestly didn't have to go through all the trouble of setting this place up…" Canada said meekly, following France towards the dining table at the center of the room.

"Oh? Don't tell me you've forgotten how many years it has been…" France turned to face the North American nation who had just finished replacing his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Years?" Canada appeared surprised at suddenly being asked, biting on his lower lip as he made mental computations. "Oh let's see… England had that British Colonies union on 18… 1867, right? And now it's 2010, so… It's a hundred and… forty-three? Is that right, 143?"

"A hundred and forty-three, exactly," France affirmed, taking hold of Canada's free hand such that he now held both of the shorter nation's hands in his own. "One, four and three."

"One-Four-Three? I don't - wait… 143, isn't that-?" Canada said, unable to help the smile on his face when France stepped closer.

"Yes, my love, it is…" the Frenchman whispered, raising both of Canada's hands to his lips and placing a kiss on the back of each palm, never once wavering in eye contact. "Happy 143rd Birthday, Canada…"


End file.
